


Lie with Me

by Spockri



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia AU, Angst, Coffee Shop, Fake Science, Falling In Love, M/M, dub con, harry is a barista, not sequel complaint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spockri/pseuds/Spockri
Summary: "Welcome to Eats and Treats," Henry greets as he gives the equipment one last polish. He looks up and freezes when he sees a young man standing at the entrance of the café. He’s in an impeccably tailored suit worth several paychecks and is staring at Henry with an equally wide-eyed expression.Henry quickly catalogs the man's appearance because it isn't often he sees someone who looks like he's just walked out of a page from GQ. Shiny black oxfords, glasses with thick black frames, dirty blonde hair severely parted from the left and styled with a dab of hair product. It's not the first time Henry's served someone wearing an expensive bespoke suit, but it's the first time he's ever seen a man look so devastatingly handsome in one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this a few months ago after seeing some pics of a sad Colin as Steve in a short film. I'm in a rush to try and push out as much writing as I can before the second movie comes out so this may read like a rough draft. Apologies for all the grammatical errors. It's slightly experimental for me since I'm not used to writing in this tense. Knowing me, the rating might go up to a hard E, but we'll see if I have time to write that in.

Henry wakes up every day and stares blankly at the white ceiling for a few minutes before getting out of bed. At this time of day, when the sun barely begins to rise, everything's always stark grey. He lives in a small flat in Hammersmith, and it’s an okay-sized place with a bathroom that's small enough for him to touch opposite ends of the room at the same time if he stretched his arms out enough. There's a kitchen that doesn't have enough counter space to cook a decent meal, a bedroom that can barely fit a full-sized mattress, and a living room that still needs to be furnished. It's all right and in a decent neighborhood. Henry doesn't remember how he got the flat. He doesn't remember much actually. 

Henry woke in a hospital several months ago with bandages wrapped tightly around his head after V-day. He was lucky to be alive, unlike the millions who had died during the 10 minutes of chaos. The doctors diagnosed him with retrograde amnesia – a large-grade loss of memories. On the outside, he looked like a normal functioning adult, but inside was a whole other matter. He didn’t even know his name until the doctor greeted him. Everything is a hit or miss still, and most of what he _can_ remember is just arbitrary and come randomly, things like the tune of an old song, the title of books he’s read, his favorite foods. It’s not like he’s a blank slate or anything. Henry has mannerisms and habits that he doesn’t recognize, so he's not like a new born child who has to relearn everything. The doctors don't know if he'll ever get his full memories back, but that's okay because Henry isn't sure if he wants to remember his past. 

The vision in his left eye is imperfect, and his motor skills took a lot of therapy to get to where he is now. It took a month for Henry to recover and in all that time, no one had come to visit him. Sometimes, Henry wonders what kind of life he had before this because he doesn't seem to have any friends or family. No one’s reached out to him since his accident. He must have been a terrible person, the kind of person everyone hates and says "good riddance" when they hear he's in the hospital and struggling to make it through. So, Henry tries not to dwell on his past too much. 

He has to take medication every morning because the doctor says he's at risk of having a seizure due to his brain injury. He has numerous scars on his body that are older than V-day, but the doctors claim he was in the army and those were probably old battle wounds he'd gotten before he was honorably discharged. That explains the steady government paychecks that are automatically deposited into his bank account every two weeks. 

When he was finally released from the hospital, no one came to retrieve him. Instead, he was assigned an aide. A bald and middle-aged man who wore a pair of black and silver spectacles that made him too stern for Henry to put up any argument. He wore a military-styled shell jacket, a navy jumper over a white dress shirt and tie, black trousers, and a pair of oxfords buffed within an inch of its life. He looked more like an aide to a high-ranking official than a social worker. The man went simply by Mark and brought Henry home. 

Mark had given him a rundown of everything: "Here's the key to your flat." "This is the password to your computer and the password bank for all your accounts." "These are your bank cards and ID. Try not to lose them." "Your prescription refills will be mailed to you on a monthly basis so don't worry about getting them from a pharmacy." 

Then, the man pulled out a circular medal and handed it over. "There's a number on the back," Mark explained and looked pensive as Henry turned over the pink and gold medallion in his hand. "Call it if there's ever an emergency. Just tell the operator 'oxfords, not brogues, ' and we'll find you." 

It had been a flurry of information, and Henry's head spun as he wondered, "who is 'we'? Where did all this come from? Am I really alone?" In his daze, it didn't even occur to him to ask why Mark knew all this information. Maybe Henry had an extensive file in the military that the government kept up to date. By the time Henry thought to ask, Mark had already left with a brief nod and a very much needed "good luck." 

So, every day, Henry puts on a drab outfit. A jumper and a pair of trousers, whatever's clean in his closet. Today, Henry frowns at the hole in his brown sock and puts it on anyway. It doesn't matter what he wears because his apron will cover everything. He wakes up at 5 AM every morning to go for a light jog and heads to the cafe at 6 to open the store for sleepy customers who need a caffeine fix before they go to work. Maisie, the café owner, always greets him with a cheery smile and has a pastry for him first thing in the morning. It's hard to be grumpy when you're working with flour and sugar all day. Henry helps put the morning batch of baked goods into the long, glass display case and makes sure the coffee is brewing before the first customer arrives. 

He chanced upon the job by accident months ago when he dropped in for a cuppa only to find Maisie cursing at the espresso machine. Henry had helped her unclog it, and the rest was history. He doesn't need a job for extra money or anything. It was just something to do, something to distract him and pass the time. Besides, the espresso machine didn't like Maisie very much and was prone to malfunctioning whenever she tried to make a cappuccino.

Tuesday afternoons are usually slow. The work week slump hasn't caught up to people yet. Today has even fewer customers as the pouring rain seems to make people reluctant to make a detour, caffeine withdrawal or not. Henry is wiping the steam wand on the espresso machine when he hears the bells on the front door jingle. 

"Welcome to Eats and Treats," Henry greets as he gives the equipment one last polish. He looks up and freezes when he sees a young man standing at the entrance of the café. He’s in an impeccably tailored suit worth several paychecks and is staring at Henry with an equally wide-eyed expression. 

Henry quickly catalogs the man's appearance because it isn't often he sees someone who looks like he's just walked out of a page from GQ. Shiny black oxfords, glasses with thick black frames, dirty blonde hair severely parted from the left and styled with a dab of hair product. It's not the first time Henry's served someone wearing an expensive bespoke suit, but it's the first time he's ever seen a man look so devastatingly handsome in one. Henry's bland outfit looks shamefully drab in comparison. He's like a dull house sparrow standing next to a brilliant peacock. 

When the silence drags on for too long, Henry clears his throat from where he's waiting behind the counter. "Can I help you?" 

That seems to snap his customer from his thoughts. As the man approaches the counter, Henry can make out more details that take his breath away. Green-blue eyes, curved pink lips, a pointy nose to go with a sharp jawline. There's a scar on his eyebrow that makes him look mischevious and playful. He's the most beautiful person Henry can remember ever seeing, and his reaction to the handsome stranger comes as a surprise because he hasn't been interested in anyone for months, not even for a little chat. He’s only ever managed normal conversations with Maisie and Jake, Maisie’s fiance, who takes over Henry’s shifts in the evenings and weekends and helps Maisie in the kitchen when he’s not in class for his Masters in Business Administration. To everyone else, Henry is always polite and reserved.

"Erm..." The man squints up at the large chalkboard menu on the wall above Henry's head. "I'll have a small latte," he orders. He finally meets Henry's gaze, and Henry feels like a snap of electricity that makes his breath hitch in surprise. 

"What's your name?" Henry asks. 

The younger man blinks dumbly like he wasn't expecting the question. "What?" 

"Your name?" Henry repeats. He reaches for a paper cup in one hand and holds a permanent marker in his other. 

"Oh, it's… Gary." Henry senses a bit of reluctance but doesn’t ask because he’s used to people giving him fake names for their coffee orders. It’s easier than taking the time to spell out a name the barista will forget in the next minute — not that Gary is a forgettable person or anything.

Henry writes down the name in neat uppercase letters. "Anything else?" He looks up to find Gary staring at him. 

Turning a shade of pink, Gary averts his gaze and takes a look at the pastry case. "Umm..." He looks at the rows of baked goods, from pre-made sandwiches to scones, cookies, and cake pops. His sea-green eyes widen as he takes in the selection. "What do you suggest?" 

Henry pauses to think, wondering if Gary prefers savory or sweet, crumbly or sticky. "The coffee cake is popular." Henry goes for the safest choice. 

Gary nods. "I'll have that then." 

Henry rings up the order and refrains from raising an eyebrow when Gary pulls out some notes from a rose gold money clip. "Sorry, I've only got large bills," Gary says sheepishly. 

"We take credit." Henry tries not to judge when Gary pulls a black credit card from his clip and swipes it through the card reader, giving a quick peek at the gold signet ring on his pinky finger.

While Henry's pouring drip coffee into the paper cup and mixing it with steamed milk, he can feel Gary's eyes on him, watching intently. It's a little unnerving and makes the hairs on his neck stand on end, but Henry tries to focus on putting a design in the foam like he does for the lattes and cappuccinos he makes all the time. 

"How are you doing?" 

Gary's question startles Henry because he wasn't expecting the man to make small talk with a barista. "I'm well," Henry responds. 

"This place keeping you busy?"

"Well, the lunch hour rush is over, so the rest of the day should be smooth sailing." 

Gary nods, but his fingers thrum anxiously against the countertop. "That's good. I'm glad you're doing well." Henry might not be the best at social cues these days, but even he can tell that the conversation is strained. He doesn't understand why Gary bothers talking to him when the man looks impatient and uncomfortable, like he’s made a mistake and just wants to disappear. Awkwardness hangs in the air until Henry slides the drink and bagged coffee cake to the younger man. "Thanks." Gary glances down at the fern Henry drew in the foam and suddenly smiles. The expression softens his whole face and gives Henry a light sensation in his chest. "You're pretty good at this." 

"A hidden talent, I suppose." 

Gary cocks his head and looks at Henry curiously. "Got any other ones?" 

"None that I can remember." 

Gary's expression falls, and Henry immediately pulls away from the conversation. He doesn't like to talk about his amnesia because people tend to get nosy and start asking him 20 questions about what he can and can't remember like it's some kind of game. To Henry’s relief, Gary doesn’t pry. Instead, he just gives a pitying smile like he understands before thanking Henry for the order and leaving to find an empty area in the cafe that has an overstuffed leather armchair and a tiny side table by the window. 

Gary stays there doing a whole lot of nothing, drinking his coffee and nibbling on his coffee cake while he plays on his phone. There are times when he catches Gary watching him, and Gary turns away sheepishly when he realizes he's been caught. Then, there are times when he sees Gary staring out the window with a sad expression like he’s lost something very dear and the dark clouds outside followed him into the café. 

Against his better judgment, Henry brings over a fresh latte and watches as another beautiful, broad smile spreads on Gary's lips when he sees the little cat face Henry's drawn in the foam. 

"On the house," Henry offers. He doesn’t know Gary at all, but he knows that he hates seeing such a sorrowful expression on the man’s face. Gary’s smile is a thing of beauty and he should be smiling all the time. 

"Thanks. I'm more of a dog guy though. For future reference," Gary says with a grin and takes a tentative sip of the fresh coffee. Gary isn't obligated to make promises or anything, but Henry is inexplicably pleased when the man talks like this cafe is going to be his normal hang-out spot going forward. 

"Any particular breed?" 

"Well, I got a pug." Gary laughs when Henry raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was a bulldog," he explains, "but JB's grown on me. Don't judge." 

"JB?" 

"Jack Bauer." 

He's only talked to Gary a little bit, but the limited information he's been able to glean makes Henry curious. Gary is too young to have that kind of suit and money clip. He’s wearing a signet ring, for God’s sake, but his grammar is questionable, and his accent sounds affected, so he isn't born from old money. He also has a pug named JB, which is a ridiculous name for a dog. It's just all so odd and curious. Henry doesn't know much about Gary, but he suddenly had an eagerness to learn, like he wants to know everything about Gary and his pug.

He doesn't recall seeing a single episode, but he's familiar with the show and its main character that Gary’s referencing. Another random memory. "A big fan of the spy genre are you?" 

Gary's smile freezes and his back stiffens, making Henry regret trying to open up because Gary is a customer and is probably uncomfortable around a nosy barista. 

"Yeah," Gary responds reluctantly, "They're pretty exciting, plot twists and all." Gary's phone rings and he seems to sigh in relief when he picks it up to answer. "Sorry. I gotta take this." 

"Not at all." Henry is also grateful for the reprieve. He retreats to the counter and tries not to eavesdrop on Gary's conversation when it sounds like it's business talk, tone lowered to a hushed seriousness. 

When the call ends, Gary stays just long enough to finish his second coffee before getting up and grabbing his umbrella. "Thanks for the drink, Henry. I hope you have a great rest of your day. I'll see you around." 

He leaves in a rush, and Henry frowns, wondering when he ever introduced himself. Then, he remembers the plastic name tag pinned to his apron and tsks at his paranoia. 

When he goes to the back room, he finds Maisie at the kitchen table working on a carrot cake. She's nearly a foot shorter than Henry, not even reaching his shoulder when they stand side by side. At 28-years-old, Maisie's done an amazing job opening a shop by herself, but even with Jake’s help, the shop is still a handful for an up-and-coming baker trying to make a name for herself in the city. She’s more than happy to have Henry's help to let her focus on the many custom cakes, pies, and cookie orders she takes on the side. 

"Everything all right?" Maisie asks, glancing at him briefly before giving the little cake turntable a slow spin so she can even out the cream cheese frosting with a spatula. Her brown chin-length hair is pinned back, but a few strands still manage to stick to her round face. When she pushes it out of the way with the back of her hand, flour streaks across her cheek. 

Henry smiles and wipes the flour off her face with his thumb before answering, "I'm not sure." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is pretty much done but super rough at 14K words. I'm also about to go out of town for a few weeks, but I promise I'll finish this when I get back. It might become part one of a series as the second half of the story is VERY different from the first half. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments. I'm still overseas so I haven't had a chance to respond, but I finally found some idle time on the train to give the next chapter a quick read (on my phone lol) before posting :)

Several weeks pass uneventfully. Such is the life in a coffee shop. Peaceful. Calming. _Slow_. Sometimes Henry yearns for something more to do, something with a purpose. But what? He can't remember anything about his past except for random things that pop up when he's not trying to remember, and his stubborn brain refuses to help when he does try. On his days off, Henry wanders through London, trying to find a way to belong in the hustle and bustle of the large city. He likes museums and books and seems to have a preference for romantic comedies whenever he catches one on TV. A lot of the times, he feels incredibly lonely, but he's too unsure of himself to do anything about it. It's hard enough to make friends as an adult. It's even more difficult to make friends when you don't even know who you are. What could he even talk about?

So, Henry carries on, taking his medication every morning as prescribed and pretending like he's a human being when he shows up to work. 

He's serving the last customer from the morning rush when the door jingles again and Gary enters with a warm smile like he's actually happy to see Henry again. 

"You came back," Henry says, trying not to sound overly excited despite the way his heart seems to skip a few beats when Gary approaches. It's ridiculous. He barely knows Gary and yet he's inexplicably drawn to the younger man. Gary must get that a lot though, being as attractive as he is. Not like Henry who is past his prime and dresses like a prim school teacher. 

"You were right about the coffee cake," Gary says with a grin. "I've been craving it for weeks." 

"Maisie will be happy to hear that." 

Gary orders quickly this time, requesting another latte and side of blueberry coffee cake. He tilts his head curiously when Henry hands him his drink. 

"It's a pug," Henry explains when Gary tries to decipher the design in his foam. "I'm still practicing." 

Gary throws his head back when he laughs, and his expression is so bright that it reminds Henry of Santorini with its gleaming white buildings and sunny summer days complete with walking on the black sand beaches and basking in the slow glow of the sunset. Henry blinks and wonders if he's ever been to Greece before because he can practically feel the warm island sun on his skin. 

"How are you doing, Henry?" Gary asks after paying for his food. 

He gets asked that by a lot of customers throughout the day, so Henry automatically responds with a genial, "I'm well. Thanks for asking." 

"Really?" Gary doesn't seem satisfied with that answer. 

If Henry was honest with himself, he hasn't been 'well' in the last six months and – aside from Maisie and Jake – talking to Gary is the first real human interaction he's had in months that isn't just Henry asking what cup size the customer wants and that's depressing. 

Gary stares at Henry's face like he's trying to read his mind. "You don't ever wake up and feel like-" Gary pauses, trying to think of a polite way to phrase his question. Henry feels something in the air, a tenuous connection between him and the younger man like Gary might be on the same wavelength. Like Gary actually knows him on an emotional level. 

The door suddenly jingles again, and they both turn their heads to see a young woman in a sharp tailored suit, long brown hair tied in a loose bun near the base of her head. 

"Gary. I thought I'd find you here." She has a pair of glasses like Gary's, and her suit is similar as well but a lighter shade of grey. She approaches the counter and gives Henry a weary nod before turning her attention to Gary. 

"Rox- Rosanne!" Gary stumbles and looks like he's been caught with his hand in a cookie jar when the lady arches her brow. Henry doesn't know what's going on but shifts his weight from one foot to another when Gary's acquaintance pulls him to the other side of the room. He can't make out what they're saying over the soft rock jazz-infused music that's playing in the shop, but they whisper harshly at each other all while giving him apprehensive glances every once in awhile. Henry glances down at his outfit and doesn't think it's that bad. He's just a barista for god's sake, so it makes him uncomfortable to see Rosanne give him a look of disapproval and gesture at him like he's some pervert trying to hit on her friend.

Yes, okay, it's a little strange to have a 50-something-year-old man serve you coffee. Most baristas are young, at the early stages of their careers. They're millennials with Mac books and social media apps on their pricey smart phones. They're all about coconut milk in their coffee and gluten-free pastries now. People Henry's age are supposed to be getting ready for retirement, preparing for a slower paced life so they can spend more time with pets, friends, and family. But Henry doesn't have any of that, so the cafe is honestly the only thing that encourages him to leave his flat every day instead of staying home to wallow in self-pity. Maisie doesn't seem to mind. She's actually glad for his help and the job let's him interact with people at a safe distance, so it's a win-win situation for the both of them. Henry isn't in need of extra money because his bank account has just enough to get by comfortably, but he'd probably go mad if he didn't have anything to keep himself busy and distracted. So, he's not going to get embarrassed just because he gets an odd look every now and then. He's got much bigger problems to deal with.

As he watches Gary and his female friend frown at each other as they talk, something in the pit of Henry's stomach tells him that the situation isn't right. He feels like he's on a cusp of a breakthrough, but there's just so much fog in his brain that he can't see through it all. Another customer – a mother of a petulant toddler who's dragging his feet – comes in and forces Henry to turn away from their conversation. From his peripheral vision, he can see them talk animatedly for a few more minutes before Gary's shoulders slump. Rosanne gives Gary a stern look, which makes Henry wonder just who is she to Gary. A colleague? A friend? A lover? 

Just as Henry is ringing up the customer and adding a free cake pop in the bag for her teary eyed son, he sees the Gary and his friend leave, coffee cup in one hand and bagged slice of cake in the other. Rosanne gives him another polite smile as she leaves, but Gary gives him a forlorn look over his shoulder. "See you around, Henry." 

~*~

He's surprised to see Gary again only a week after getting chastised like a child in front of everyone in the store. 

"Hi," Gary greets, and Henry smiles. He knows he's daft for being so pleased because he barely knows Gary. The vision in his left eye might be a little faulty, but Henry isn’t blind to the fact that Gary is incredibly attractive. Henry is probably one of hundreds who feel the pull toward Gary like a moth to light. Gary is like the first ray of sunshine finally peeking through after consecutive days of gloomy clouds. People can't help but tip their heads up with a smile to bask in the light and warmth of it. 

"Hello," Henry greets back. "It's good to see you again. How is everything?" 

"It's good. Everything's good now." 

"And your girlfriend?" Henry inquires, trying his best not to seem too nosy or eager, or worst yet, desperate. 

"My what?" 

"Rosanne?" Henry says slowly, wondering if his memory is messing with him again. 

"Oh." Gary's face turns a shade of red. "She ain't my girlfriend. We work together." 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to assume." Henry is foolishly relieved by the revelation. 

"Nah, it's nothing. Sorry for making a scene last time." 

"I hate to disappoint, but a 3-year-old screaming at the top of his lungs stole the show after you left," Henry replies with a small smile.

Gary chuckles. "Yeah, when I miss my midday nap, I tend to scream and cry too." 

After that, Gary becomes a regular, popping into the cafe at least once a week for his daily dose of caffeine and sugar. He even ventures out to try Maisie’s other baked goods like croissants, cookies, and brownies. The coffee cake is still Gary’s favorite though. They start chatting briefly about safe things like the weather, popular culture, and current events, whatever they can fit within the couple of minutes it takes for Henry to make his latte. Gary always asks how he’s doing and looks pleased when Henry says ‘well’ and eventually starts to mean it.

A month in, as he’s ringing up another latte and muffin this time, Henry catches Gary staring at him again, thoughtful and curious. Henry doesn't understand Gary's fascination with him because he might just be the dullest person in the city and Gary looks like he hangs out with very interesting people. When their eyes meet, Gary doesn't look away like the other times he's been caught in the past. Instead, he asks, "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?" 

The question takes Henry by surprise, and he stares at Gary in confusion because he must have misheard. Gary was probably asking for a recommendation for a good place to eat around here. Henry's not sure, so he hesitates. 

"I know a good Mediterranean place around here," Gary supplies and starts to look nervous when Henry stares at him with wide eyes. 

"I..." Henry freezes. It must be some kind of joke. Why on earth would Gary want to spend time with him? Watching grass grow would be more entertaining. Then, Henry remembers the look on Rosanne's face, concerned, upset, and uncomfortable around Henry – like she suspects he's some kind of predator going after rich boys. He remembers that he's a sad, old man working in a small coffee shop and he probably comes off as borderline senile with only pockets of memories. "I don't think that would be wise." 

Gary looks crushed by the response, but Henry stands by his decision because he needs friends, but he's not that desperate or foolish. Henry might be missing a piece of his brain or whatever, but he's not dumb enough to think this is normal, that Gary would actually be interested in him even as an acquaintance. 

"Sorry, I..." Gary scratches the back of his neck, taken aback by Henry's response like he didn't think he'd be rejected. Why would he when he's wealthy and looks the way he does? Gary is probably used to getting anything he wants. "Guess I read the signals wrong." Henry doesn't correct him. "Anyway, sorry for bugging you all the time." Gary shifts his weight and reaches into his inner coat pocket and draws out a business card. Henry takes it warily and gives it a quick look. 

Gary London. Kingsman Tailor. There's an address on the back of the card as well a several numbers, one for the store and one that looks like a mobile number. "Let me know if you change your mind. Thanks for the coffee. Bye, Henry." 

Gary leaves the store without a second glance, and it feels like Henry's made a terrible mistake.

Days after Gary's invitation, Henry sits at home and turns the card over in his fingers for the hundredth time. He plays with it whenever he feels fidgety and restless. He knows better than to feel hopeful but his mind can't help but stray and think about what-ifs. He likes Gary's company from what little interaction they've had together. The cafe has several regulars, but not like Gary. Everyone's polite to him, but never interested in him as a person. Never really meaning it when they ask how he's doing. Gary is sincere and persistent with his question, calling Henry out for the generic and false answer.

Henry rejected Gary's offer out of pride and doubt, but his resolve falters as the week passes. He won't get anywhere by outright rejecting potential friendships and he'll be a cantankerous hermit that people can't stand to be around if he keeps this stubbornness up. Henry needs to try, needs to meet people halfway and learn to open up because he doesn't want to wake up in a hospital again and realize he has no one to turn to or no contact to give the doctor.

A part of him is dying to get to know Gary better. He's curious about what kind of person Gary is to wear those kinds of suits and have that kind of money. He wants to meet JB someday and have a friend he can talk to when he's lonely (and he's lonely a lot of the time). It's pathetic really. It's even more pathetic when Henry gives in and calls the number on the card. 

He hears the phone ring twice before someone answers. "Hello?" 

Henry feels his heartbeat pounding when he hears Gary's voice through the phone. Warmth seeps from his chest, spreading to his shoulders and up to his neck. "Gary?" He clears his voice when it comes out unsteady. "It's me. Henry." 

He hears Gary suck in a breath. Then, there's rustling and muffled sounds before Gary speaks again, his voice clearer this time, "Henry! Hey. What's up? Is everything okay?" 

Henry hesitates because Gary sounds surprised to hear back from him. It's too late to back out now though. "I was wondering if you were still in the mood for Mediterranean. " 

"Yeah?" Gary sounds breathy like he's holding back a sigh of relief. "They have fucking amazing gyros and hummus." He pronounces it "hum-miss", and Henry can't help himself. 

"It's pronounced 'hoo-moos'," Henry corrects, and Gary chuckles. 

"Wanna grab a bite tonight then? I should be free by 7. I'll text you the address, yeah?" 

"Sounds good to me." 

The spot is a tiny hole in the wall that's so small it only fits two tables inside. Henry doesn’t actually recognize Gary until the man is right next to him and says his name. 

“What?” Gary says, blinking up at Henry in confusion when Henry just stares at him. Then he looks down at the black hoodie he’s wearing like there’s a stain on it or it or something. 

“I just wasn’t expecting _this_ ,” Henry motions to Gary’s outfit. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans to go with his black hoodie, and the stripes on his trainers match the white stripes of his top and the snapback on his head. It’s coordinated well for a “street” look and it works on him. Gary looks so different from the gentleman that visits the cafe every week, and yet Henry can’t help but find the look befitting. Gary’s just blessed with the kind of face that goes well with everything, he supposes.

“Oh this,” Gary explains with a small laugh. “I’m off the clock. You didn’t think I wore those stuffy suits all the time, did you? My mates would laugh their arses off if I went into a pub wearing one of them suits. C’mon. Do you know what you want? I’m starving.” There's a small line going out the door so they order shawarmas, chips, and ‘hum-miss’ as takeaway and keep walking until they stop at a park nearby and find a spot to sit. Henry can't explain it, but he enjoys Gary's company, even when they're just sharing a bench and eating a cheap meal together. It feels normal.

"So," Gary starts and dips his chip into the creamy hummus. 

"If you're going to ask me how I'm doing, I'm going home," Henry interrupts because that seems to be Gary's standard question whenever they meet. 

Gary looks sheepish. "All right, what do you like to do for fun?" 

Henry chews thoughtfully and thinks of an answer. "I like to read." 

"Yeah? What kinda books?" 

"Non-fiction. Historical novels. Biographies. It helps me remember." He gives Gary a side glance, wondering how Gary will take the information. It’s not the first time he’s mentioned his faulty memory. Gary has always been polite about it and never pries. But if they're going to be friends, he might as well start on the right foot before Gary assumes he's got dementia or something. "I have a head injury from V-day that affects my memory," he explains. "I have pockets of events I don't remember." 

"Oh," Gary says and looks away for a moment to think and watch as a man walks his dog past their bench. Gary doesn't seem shocked or bothered by it. It's almost like he expected it or assumed as much from the beginning. "Well, there's a silver lining though, yeah?" 

Henry raises a skeptical eyebrow. "And what would that be?" 

"You can read books and watch movies like it's the first time again." Gary grins at him and Henry is dumbfounded by his optimism. It's true. He doesn't remember a lot of the movies he's seen in the past. "You should check out this film called ‘The Sixth Sense’. You'll love it." 

"I'll put that in my queue," Henry responds dryly. 

The conversation drifts from one thing to another. It doesn't seem as annoying with Gary when he asks about his memory and his life. Gary doesn't make him feel self-conscious or embarrassed by his failings. Instead, Gary's always gazing at him intently and enjoys his company even though Henry feels like bland vanilla. 

Gary takes his time talking about himself. His life isn't that much more exciting. There are thoughtful pauses like he has to think before telling Henry things. Maybe he's lost in fond memories, or perhaps trying to figure out how much detail he needs to go into with someone he barely knows. Contrary to Henry's assumptions, Gary doesn't come from new money. Instead, he works at a high-end tailor shop, trying to reach out to a younger crowd that isn't 100% sold on traditional suits. His uncle had hooked him up with apprenticeship because he had nothing else going on and discovered that he had a knack for fashion. Gary's taste, as demonstrated by his current outfit, is different and it gives the shop a breath of fresh air instead of the stale scent of mothballs that lingers after old men visit the shop. 

"Not that there's anything wrong with being old," Gary quickly corrects himself before he offends Henry. 

Henry shakes his head. "It's quite alright. I’m probably just like those stuffy codgers, but in our defense, not all of us smell like mothballs." 

"You're well fit for your age," Gary insists. 

"I might have amnesia, but I don’t have any delusions of grandeur about myself," Henry jokes, enjoying the way Gary makes a face. It's been a while since he's felt relaxed enough to joke around like this, self-deprecating instead of self-pitying. He glances at his watch when he hears bells chime in the distance, signaling the passing of another hour. They've spent two hours together and Henry wants it to last a little longer, but he can't be greedy. The night's chill is starting to creep up on them anyway. Henry pulls the edges of his coat closer together. "I should go home. It's getting late." 

They crinkle up the wrapping paper and napkins into tight balls before tossing them into the trash. 

"I had fun tonight," Gary says and Henry nods in agreement. He’s never done this before, not even with Maisie and Jake, and it wasn’t as painful as he’d been expecting. Maybe he’d been doing himself a disservice by being too guarded and reluctant to open up to strangers. "Do you think we can do this again sometime?" 

Henry smiles down at the younger man. "I'd like that." 

A few days later, Henry texts Gary: /He sees dead people./ 

/You finally watched it?/ 

/My mind is blown./ 

/Wait til you watch Gone Girl/ 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post the next chapter. I've been distracted by The Golden Circle. My feelings about all the characters are complicated now, but Taron's responses to a lot of interviews basically dragged me back into Hartwin hell lol.  
> There's a very small warning at the end of this chapter.

For the first time in almost half a year, Henry has a friend, someone he can talk to outside of work. He supposes could count Maisie and Jake as well since they've had dinner and drinks twice but he prefers Gary's company more because he doesn't like feeling like a third wheel. After Mediterranean, they go out for fish and chips, chicken tikka masala, and even Sunday roast. They wander around Borough Market with a Cornish pasty in one hand and a bag full of Turkish delight in the other. Gary eats a pistachio flavored piece and white sugar powder clings to a corner of his lip.

"You have a little something." Henry motions to his mouth and looks away after a moment because the sight of Eggsy wiping the mess away with his thumb and licking it clean is more distracting than it ought to be.

Whoever Henry may have been in the past doesn't bother him that much anymore because Gary accepts him as he is and is willing to make new memories with him. Even if he didn't have anyone before V-day, he has someone to talk to now. Henry feels foolish for putting too much into their friendship, putting too many eggs in one basket, but Gary always seems eager to spend time with him, and Henry is happy to spend his free time with the young man as well.

One rainy weekend, they spend almost an entire day in the National Gallery. Henry's been there before, but it's much more fun with Gary, albeit a little unnerving because Gary's attention seems more focused on him than the classics surrounding them. When the extensive audio guide gets too exhausting, they sit beside each other in amicable silence. As they gaze at one of Monet's water lily paintings, Henry is acutely aware of how close they're sitting, shoulder to shoulder and close enough that he can feel the heat where their thighs touch, even through a layer of trackies and a proper pair of trousers. He glances down in confusion only to catch Gary watching him with a mildly amused expression, lips quirked in an attractive smile. Gary doesn't bother scooting down the bench to give him space, and Henry doesn't complain even though it's suddenly more difficult for him to focus on the painting in front of them.

One day though, Gary calls him and says, "I have to go overseas for a bit." Henry's stomach plummets when Gary delivers the news. Something about catching a big international client. "I'll probably be gone for a month or so. Don't forget about me, okay?"

"Only if I get knocked on the head again," Henry says, trying to make light of the situation. Gary laughs softly in his ear.

"Take care of yourself, Henry. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Henry misses Gary terribly while the man is gone. He’s learning to open up and make more small talk, but it's hard to make new friends at 50. By that age, most people have families and their own group of friends they've known for years and grown old with. It's like he's gone back to square one, back to being the odd old man who should have a menagerie of pets including no less than two or three cats at home to keep him company. The month stretches out, feeling longer than usual without Gary. The temperature drops at the end of October and the sun is out less and less like it's showing up to work late and leaving early.

Still, Henry carries on, making an effort to talk to people while he's serving up their orders. Henry is still introverted, but Gary's instilled enough confidence in him that he can manage social situations now without clamming up when people start asking personal questions. Since he's met Gary, Henry's learned to relax a little and enjoy what's present instead of worrying about the past. It's like Gary was his therapist, helping integrate him back into the world until he's on a friendly first-name basis with a handful of regular customers. There's no replacement for Gary though. 

He counts down the days and starts to worry when a month passes and he hasn't heard from Gary yet. Henry should be more dignified about it, but he starts to worry that Gary's moved on, realizing he wasn't getting much out of their friendship. Each day that passes by after the one-month mark makes Henry's heart sink deeper and deeper.

Mid-November, Henry is cleaning up the shop in the afternoon and stops by a table to talk to Flora and give to her mini schnauzer, Atticus, a little pat on the head. Flora is a 50-something-year-old, single mother, who's been frequenting the cafe lately. She likes to linger for an hour or so to read a chapter from a book before going on about her day. Atticus is always by her side, lying by her feet as she makes herself at home in the corner of the shop.

"Henry," Flora says, watching as he kneels to play with Atticus, "What do you do in the evenings?"

Henry looks up at her in confusion. "Nothing special," he admits. "I'll probably heat something up for dinner and catch up on the news." That's what normal people do, right?

"You don't cook?" She asks curiously.

"My kitchen isn't big enough for elaborate meals, but I can get away with an omelet or a stir fry for special occasions." Cooking for one is a lot of work, especially in a place like his, so he prefers buying takeaway and frozen foods.

"I make a rather good beef stew with dumplings. And my daughter loves my rhubarb crumble too. When she lived at home, anyway." Flora gives a soft laugh feeling self-conscious of her age and tries not to look too desperate as she gives him an offhanded invitation to dinner.

Oh. Henry stares at Flora in stupefaction because he doesn't know how to respond to this situation. Flora is attractive and seems kind. She's always lingered in the shop to talk to him. Henry should have seen the signs, but it didn't even occur to him that anyone would be interested in him the way he is right now. He's flattered, but not interested in her that way.

The awkward moment breaks when the bells on the front door jingle and Henry's chest goes a flutter when he sees who it is. Gary shakes the rainwater off his umbrella and smiles widely when they make eye contact.

"Thank you, but I think I have dinner plans already," Henry says to Flora absently, already distracted by Gary's presence. He can see Flora giving them an odd look. Gary is probably young enough to date her daughter.

He tries not to look too eager when he rounds the counter, ready to serve Gary when he comes to order his usual latte.

"You came back," Henry greets, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat races when Gary smiles at him despite the dark circles under his eyes.

"Been going into coffee cake withdrawal," Gary admits with a cheeky wink. He grins at the latte Henry gives him. "Your pugs are getting better."

"That's supposed to be a panda," Henry deadpans and Gary laughs out loud, distracting several customers in the shop including Flora, who is busy packing up her things to leave for the day. Henry feels a little guilty, but he'll throw in a free cookie or something the next time she comes. If she comes back after his awkward rejection, that is.

"Wanna have dinner tonight?" Gary asks.

"I'd love to," Henry replies without missing a beat.

They find a cozy Moroccan place near Covent Garden and Gary tells him about the United States, or more specifically, Kentucky. Gary doesn't like American whiskey very much, and they all talk with a funny accent.

"I take it you bagged the client you were trying to get?" Henry asks.

Gary hesitates for a second before nodding. "Yeah, I did."

"That's good then. We should have a toast." They talk and drink quite a bit, and Henry can feel the heat from the alcohol in his face by the time they finish their meal and leave the restaurant. It's raining again, so they hide under the brolly Gary always carries with him as they wait for the Uber Gary's summoned for him despite Henry's protests. He's fine with taking the tube, but Gary refuses to let Henry slog off in the heavy rain.

"Is this okay?" Gary asks when they squeeze in under the umbrella. It's plenty large for one person, but a tight fit for two.

"It's fine," Henry reassures.

Gary gazes up at him with a curious expression. "What about this?" He reaches over with his free hand and rests it against Henry's chest, fingers curling loosely around the lapel of Henry's coat. They're facing each other now, and Henry's breath catches when he realizes just how close they are. He can practically count Gary's lashes and admire the way they fan out full and thick when he blinks slowly. Gary's cheeks are rosy and his mouth is even pinker. Even though it's cold in November and raining cats and dogs around them, Henry feels warm under the collar and thinks he can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

"This is fine," Henry replies again, though he's beginning to doubt himself. The longer they stay under the umbrella, the more he feels he'll do something rash that they'll both regret.

"...What about this?"

Henry doesn't answer. Instead, he leans down to meet Gary halfway when Gary presses forward, tilting his head up for a kiss.

Under the cover of the umbrella, it feels like it's just the two of them on the planet and Gary makes up Henry's entire world. Wrapping an arm around Gary's waist, Henry pulls him in close, deepening their kiss because it's as close to heaven as he can get without dying and he can't get enough. Gary's mouth is soft and warm against his own and he tastes of cumin and cinnamon from their dinner. There's something about the kiss that gives Henry pause. It's not familiar, not a memory, but it feels like it's in the right direction. It feels like destiny like this was always meant to happen in this lifetime or another.

They're completely immersed in each other until a car pulls up beside them. Conscious of bystanders, Henry breaks the kiss and Gary blinks slowly and gives a soft sigh, warm breath brushing against Henry's lips.

"Your ride's here," Gary says and Henry nods, reluctant to leave so soon. "I'll see you again soon." It's a promise. Henry nods again before pulling away and getting into the waiting vehicle. His mouth tingles the entire ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is where we get into dubious consent territory. Harry may like and want Eggsy, but it's clear he doesn't have all the facts to make an informed decision.  
> Thank you much for the comments and kudos. I appreciate each and every one!


	4. Chapter 4

After that, they share dozens of kisses. They kiss every opportunity they get until Henry loses count. Gary gets bolder every time they meet. He reaches out for Henry, fingers sometimes teasing the inside of his wrist. He kisses Henry when he thinks no one's looking and Henry feels a thrill every time their lips brush. 

Sometimes, Henry thinks this has to stop. Gary is too young and Henry's too broken to get into anything serious, but it's hard to resist Gary's magnetic charm. He has no willpower and always kisses back when the younger man leans in with a greedy smile. 

On their fourth date -– they're dates now aren't they? They aren't just friends anymore. On their fourth date, Gary walks him home from dinner because it turns out Henry lives only a block away from a really good sushi bar. They walk side by side, the backs of their hands brushing against each other occasionally. When they get to the front of Henry's apartment building, Henry makes the first move and kisses Gary good night. It's sweet and full of longing. They're both a little breathless when they finally pull apart. 

Gary glances up the three-story building, trying to guess which windows belong to his flat. Eventually, he looks at Henry again and smiles, looking coy and tempting as his dimples make an appearance. "Well, aren't you gonna invite me up?" Tomorrow is Henry's day off, and he knows it. 

Henry fishes his keys from his pocket before taking Gary's hand and leading him in. 

~*~

The morning after, Henry wakes up first because he's used to waking up near the break of dawn. His bed is too small for two full-sized adults, so it's a little cramped, but it's nothing to complain about. Gary is nestled under the covers, his back to the exposed brick wall and front pressed against Henry's warm body. He noses against Henry's shoulder when Henry shifts. Gary has a handsome profile, accentuated by the slope of his pointy nose, high cheekbones, and the sharp lines of his jaw. In the grey morning light, he looks soft, almost angelic, with his dirty blonde hair against the pillows and his expression relaxed. 

He's so beautiful that it takes Henry's breath away. Henry admires the little details and enjoys the warm cocoon they've made with the sheets bundled around him. They've made a little heaven for themselves in his bed –- a respite that feels like he's finally found a place where he belongs. It's been a while since the accident, but for the first time since Henry woke up in the hospital with bandages around his head, he feels content and excited about the future. 

"Are you going to keep watching me sleep like that bloody vampire in Twilight or are you going to do the decent thing and make some breakfast?" Gary asks, startling Henry when he breaks the serene silence. Gary smiles sleepily and cracks an eye open to peek at Henry. 

"Sorry," Henry apologizes. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Gary rubs the sleep from his eyes with a fist and yawns. "Nah, don't worry. I'm just a light sleeper." He looks adorable with bleary-eyes and a cheek creased with indents from the pillow.

"I didn't mean to stare." Henry's face warms when he's caught fawning over his much younger lover. "Sometimes I just can't believe that you're here." 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"It's a little too good to be true..." They fit together surprisingly well even though there are several decades between them. He's never met anyone as intriguing as Gary before and can't for the life of him imagine why someone as handsome and charming as Gary would be into someone like him. 

"Henry." Gary sits up and lets the sheets fall to his waist. His chest has a smattering of light hair and is very defined, dense with muscle. "You got a mirror in this house, right?" 

"What?" 

"Have you seen yourself? You're a bloody catch," Gary states. He might as well be speaking in another language because Henry doesn't register anything he's saying. "For fuck's sake. I leave for a month and all of a sudden I've got to fight off a bunch of thirsty women for your attention." 

Flora never did come back to the cafe. Henry colors at Gary's flattering words. It's not like he has a long line of people waiting to ask him out or anything. "You were gone for more than a month," Henry points out, trying to change the topic because he's too self-conscious to sit there and eat up compliments from someone who's a living example of Adonis. 

"Yeah, and I missed you every fucking day." Gary leans over to cup Henry's face and kisses him sweetly. This is something Henry could definitely get accustomed to. After a moment, Gary pulls away and wrinkles his nose cutely. "Do you got any mouthwash?" 

In the small bathroom, Gary collects toothpaste on his index finger and rubs it against his teeth as a makeshift toothbrush. Henry makes a mental note to get a spare the next time he goes to the store. He doesn't want to make assumptions about the future, but he'd rather be prepared than not. Henry fishes out a pill bottle from the cabinet above the sink, and Gary watches curiously as Henry takes his daily medication. 

"What's that for?" Gary asks after spitting out the minty foam from his mouth. 

"For my head," Henry informs and swallows two tablets with a handful of tap water. "The doctor prescribed it to prevent seizures because of my brain injuries." 

"Have you ever had a seizure since you woke up?" 

"No." 

"Hm," Gary says thoughtfully and leans against the sink with his arms crossed. "Have you ever not taken your medication?" 

"No, why wouldn't I?" Henry's never had a reason to question his doctor, and Gary's sudden interest makes him feel uneasy. Henry can pass off as a normal human being if people don't ask him about his family or his past. These pills are a reminder that he's not right in the head. 

Gary just shrugs and looks away. "Just wonderin' is all. So, breakfast?" He graciously changes the topic, possibly sensing Henry's walls start to come up. 

"I don't have anything to eat at home," Henry confesses, "but I do know a good cafe." 

Gary chuckles and leaves the bathroom, yawning and stretching his arms overhead and looking very much like an underwear model in his boxer briefs. "I'm so hungry I could eat a full English breakfast. It takes a lot of energy to keep up with you, you know." 

"Gary?" There's something that's been bugging Henry all morning. 

"Yeah?" 

"What's Twilight?" 

There's a long pause before Gary starts laughing so hard he tears up. "It's the most amazing movie in the world. It's my mum's favorite. Let me know when it's next in your queue. I'll bring over popcorn." 

~*~

They develop a cadence and see each other at least once a week. They go out for dinner and watch movies together, even Twilight. They try to talk Maisie into joining The Great British Bake Off. They even go out for drinks with Maisie and Jake to celebrate Jake finishing his second term in school. Henry finally furnishes his tiny living room, and Gary helps decorate until the place starts to feel like a real home.

Once, Gary even came over with a bag of groceries. "You should have a home cooked meal," he proposes and pulls out a jar of marinara sauce and a box of dry pasta. 

"Is it really home cooked if everything's pre-packaged?" Henry asks dryly. 

"Shush," Gary says and gets on his toes to give Henry a peck on the nose. "I'm gonna add some stuff to the sauce. I learned it from my mum. You'll like it." Gary talks about his family a lot, but Henry has yet to meet anyone in Gary's life. 

They spend holiday evenings together, like Christmas and New Years Eve. Gary gifts him with a navy pinstriped suit that leaves Henry speechless.

"I can't take this," he says because the suit must be worth thousands of pounds.

"Well, you're going to have to because it's tailored and I'll have to trash it 'cause it won't fit anyone else but you," Gary says with a grin, refusing to take his gift back. Instead, he reaches for the parcel Henry's meticulously wrapped for him, ribbons and all.

His gift to Gary, a hoodie with a picture of a silly Pug and text that says "Pug Life", seems pale in comparison, but Gary makes a delighted sound when he opens the box and immediately tries it on. "Oh my god. He looks just fucking like JB!" His smile is so bright it lights up the whole apartment that he could have been the guiding star on a holy night. 

Holiday mornings, however, are another story. It's a little awkward when Gary says he has to visit his family. Alone. Henry smiles and nods in understanding. He gives Gary a quick peck on the lips before Gary leaves. They've only been dating for a short while, so it's too soon to meet friends and family. It's even too early to meet Gary's pug even though Henry's seen a million pictures of him on the man's phone.

Still, there's something about the situation that's irksome. Gary knows a lot about him, almost as much as Henry knows about himself, but Gary himself is a blank slate. The more Henry thinks about it, the more he realizes Gary talks about himself in vague terms. He knows Gary’s father passed away a long time ago and his mother and sister currently reside in Ealing. He hasn't been to Gary's house because he supposedly lives with housemates. Besides Roxanne, he hasn’t met anyone else in the man's life. It's like Gary exists solely for him, to spend time with him, entertain him, and keep his bed warm. 

Despite Gary's reassurances, it's still too good to be true. The thought bothers Henry, but he's too weak to question it. He fears the dream might disappear in a puff of smoke if he squints too hard and he'll wake up to his drab life pre-Gary. So he chooses to ignore his instincts and smiles whenever Gary looks at him and leans in whenever Gary wants to kiss him. He needs Gary because he's just an empty shell without him. Gary breathes color into his life, and Henry's going to enjoy and appreciate every moment until the dream ends. 

When Gary has to go on another business trip, Henry gives a forced smile. It was bound to happen eventually, and Henry needs to suck it up. He's a middle-aged man for God's sake, not a mopey teen with a flair for over-dramatics. "I'll miss you," Gary says. "I better not come back and have to fight for your attention again." 

"I'll wait for you," Henry promises. He kisses Gary deeply, taking his time to savor and remember it because it might be another month until he'll get to kiss those soft lips again if at all. 

In Gary's absence, Henry carries on, nibbling on cranberry shortbread on his breaks and smiling whenever someone comes in looking haggard as hell and in need of a caffeine and sugar fix. He's not going to let his world revolve around Gary, even if it feels like Gary _is_ his world.

After he flips the store sign to "Closed" for the evening, Henry joins Maisie in the back of the store where he finds her standing on a precarious stack of boxes to reach the top of a shelf. 

"Need a hand?" He asks. 

She looks over her shoulder and sighs in relief. "Oh, thank god you're here. Can you grab the sugar for me?" 

"How did you even manage to get it up there?" Henry reaches over her and grazes the container with his fingers. Henry's about 6'1", but even he can't reach the sugar. 

"Let me grab a chair from the front," Maisie says. 

"It's fine. I’ll just use this." He finds a bigger box that's heavy and sturdy and just the right size for Henry to reach for the sugar. 

Everything's good until box suddenly collapses under Henry's weight and he loses his balance. He sees stars when his forehead slams against the edge of a table, and he struggles to get up while his vision spins. Henry can't tell the floor from the ceiling, so he just says on his hands and knees as he waits for everything to stabilize. 

"Oh my god. Oh, fuck." Maisie starts to freak out. She kneels beside him, big brown eyes wide enough to fill half her face. "Are you okay? Oh hell, you're bleeding." Henry touches his forehead, and his fingers are bright red when he looks at them. 

"I'm... quite all right," Henry reassures even though he feels a little woozy. 

"We have to get you to a hospital!" Maisie puts one of his arms around her shoulders to support his weight even though she barely reaches Henry's chest when she stands up to her full height. 

Henry finds himself in the passenger seat of her car, holding a towel to his head so he doesn't bleed all over the upholstery. "This is a little much." 

"Shush," Maisie hisses as she races them to the nearest emergency room. "I won't have you dying on my watch." _That_ is a little much because Henry's already feeling better by the time his seatbelt is on.

Fortunately, the bleeding more or less stopped by the time they got to the emergency room, but Henry's thankful for Maisie's attention and care anyway. He's fine. A newly minted doctor checks his pupils and blood pressure to see if he has a concussion. They even stick him in a CT scanner to be safe, but he's not in any danger. The cut on Henry's head doesn't even need stitches. They patch it together with a couple of butterfly closures. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot even if it's only a scratch. 

"Do you have any short-term memory loss?" Dr. Cho asks as she moves her finger and has Henry track its movement with his eyes. 

"I have a lot of memory loss, but it's mainly due to past brain trauma." 

"Oh?" The doctor takes another look at his CT scans and frowns. 

"It happened over a year ago." 

"I did notice some minor shrinkage in the right frontal lobe.” She pauses in consideration. “I suppose it could result in retrograde amnesia, but most patients who suffer memory loss from this type of brain injury eventually get their memories back."

Henry blinks at the doctor, not sure he understands what she’s saying. He just repeats what he's been told in the past. "There was permanent damage to the hippocampus that would prevent me from getting all my memories back and puts me at risk for seizures. I take medicine every day for it." 

“Brains are finicky things, and the speed at which a patient recovers from retrograde amnesia differs from one person to another. It could be days, months, even years sometimes. There's damage, yes,” Dr. Cho agrees hesitantly. "But your hippocampus looks intact and there's nothing about your injuries that are so severe that it would cause seizures." She frowns at the CT scans and tilts her head as if another angle might help her see whatever he's talking about. “Have you had any migraines?”

“No.”

“Unusual smells, taste, feelings?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had an out-of-body sensation?”

“No?” Each question brings on more confusion.

“I just find it hard to match the damage you're describing to the images I'm seeing,” Dr. Cho says. “An MRI could provide better results. It would be irresponsible of me to diagnose you having only seen your scans in the last hour,” she amends quickly. “You should check with your regular physician who's more familiar with your medical history and ask how your brain injury has been healing. Ask if you have to keep taking your medication because it doesn't look like you need it for anything. Oldschool doctors tend to overprescribe medicine like it's candy, but the less medication you have to take, the better." 

Truthfully, Henry hasn't been back to see his doctor at the private clinic since he first left. After spending months there during his recovery, he's been reluctant to go back. Since Henry doesn't have any real injuries, he's released fairly quickly to make room for more critical patients, and Maisie drops him off in front of his flat. "Thank you for staying with me," Henry says as he gets out of the car. "You really didn't have to." 

"I really did, Henry," Maisie insists. "We're not just co-workers, you know. Take care of yourself. If you don't come into work tomorrow morning, I'll be banging on your door." 

He smiles, shuts the car door, and waves as she drives off. Henry is more exhausted than he expects and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

In the morning, he crawls out of bed and goes to the bathroom for his morning routine. His head throbs, but nothing more than the headaches he's gotten when he's a little sleep deprived. When he fishes for his pill bottle from the cabinet, Henry pauses and stares at it for a long time. 

Questions start to emerge. Where does it come from? Does he even know what it's for? Carbamazepine. Even though the bottle's labeled like any other prescription bottle, how does he know what's actually in there? 

Henry frowns when he realizes he's been accepting everything that's been spoon-fed to him without question. He remembers Gary asking him about it with a concerned look in his eyes. What is he even taking this for if Dr. Cho thinks his brain looks fine? But then again, the doctor just finished her residency six months ago, so there's a chance she made a rookie mistake. Maybe he should get a real second opinion. Something just doesn't feel right. 

After a moment of hesitation, Henry puts the bottle back in the cabinet, skipping his daily dose, and goes about his day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, just crazy busy with work these days. I will finish this eventually! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos!


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